


Wise Men

by Surgeworks



Category: Outlast (Video Games), Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Gen, M/M, long fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28460256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Surgeworks/pseuds/Surgeworks
Summary: Two traumatized, fearful, sorrowful, angry men who have both experienced Hell on Earth find themselves thrown together into a harrowing escape, trying to secure important variables while dodging the violent machinations of both Murkoff and their successful experiments.
Relationships: Lisa Park/Waylon Park, Miles Upshur and Alex Shepherd, Miles Upshur/Alex Shepherd
Kudos: 3





	1. The Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in early 2014.
> 
> Alex still has nightmares, even seven years after escaping Silent Hill. Though he untruthfully tells himself that Hell on Earth is no longer with him, it's about to come barreling back into his life in the form of a reporter.

Alex hated black coffee.

Didn't know why he drank it anymore. Truth be told, there was nothing really stopping him from telling Frances, the waitress, that he wanted a mountain of sugar and cream in his evening order. Or even that he wanted iced tea instead, also with mountains of sugar. It was just another one of those things he had trained himself to do, part of his nightly staying-awake ritual. He got off his shitty retail job at six, went home for a few hours, and then when he felt his exhaustion creeping in, he came to the cafe to stave it off. In all the Waffle Houses and shitty suburb cafes he'd done this in across the States, he always took an end-of-the-aisle barstool. Still vulnerable to invasion of his little bubble of privacy, yes, but it kept away obnoxious questions about whether he was waiting on some girl that always came whenever he took a booth seat.

And after a particularly grueling day, in which he'd finally gotten back from a warehouse shift only to have to deal with angry white mothers harrowing him during the day, Alex was in a sore enough mood to actually take open issue with the guy who decided to plant himself in the seat right next to him, otherwise so emphatically empty--but the guy was the one to open his mouth first.

"Military, huh?" he said, his voice only barely rasping. "You finish a tour?"

"Yep." Alex said, sipping his coffee. While the idea that he'd served in the military was at this point patently false, he'd had seven years to research enough to lie through casual conversation that leaned this way. The man, though, didn't ask him where he'd toured or what regiment he'd served with.

"Kinda surprised. You look a little young to have been through the full deal."

This, Alex suspected to be more untrue than flattery was worth. Yeah, he was only coming up on his thirtieth birthday, and his look hadn't changed much over the years, but he doubted he was aging well with how his daily upkeep went. Something about depression coming through in his face, more than one doctor had told him. He wondered why he was the target of the latest chatty guy to stroll in at eleven in the evening, and took a look over at his new company.

Altogether, a fairly normal-looking guy. Dark-haired, clean-shaven, and wearing a beige jacket over a white dress shirt tucked into jeans. Handsome, but not aggressively so, hair a little messy, smile small, and the hunch over the counter matched his own. Alex didn't know why, as there wasn't anything overtly unwelcoming about him, but his hair started to stand on end as he looked him over. At least, nothing seemed wrong until he looked at the hands, as they reached up to signal a waitress--and that made Alex inhale sharply. The right hand he could see was missing the greater part of its index finger.

"Yeah, well..." he said, looking away, hopefully before his lingering glance was caught. "Good genes, I guess."

A shudder overtook him while he was taking his next sip, and he barely got over it without causing a scene as coffee almost went down the wrong windpipe. That _sensation_...flashes went through his mind faster than he could process, and he set the mug down perhaps a bit too hard, staring ahead. His eyes glanced over to the unnamed man, who was just now receiving his own drink. Was this guy bad news? He'd left his radio at home. But something told him that if he had it now, it'd be buzzing with static.

 _That's stupid_ , he told himself. _Chill out a bit, and stop getting worked up over a guy who's said two sentences to you._

"Lucky genes, too. Not all of them come back so clean. Always respect our boys fighting the good fight."

Alex glanced over again, and the smile definitely wasn't reaching this guy's eyes. He leaned up somewhat, feeling the dog tags lay against his chest, where he kept something important.

"And, you are...?"

"A reporter. Freelance." The guy said, turning in his seat, but thankfully making no move to extend a handshake. Alex grimaced.

"I'm not looking to give any stories."

"I'm not looking to get any." The man said simply. "Just hoping to share a space. I did some war photography out there, so I know how things can get. I get those 'black coffee blues'."

Once more, Alex's eyes flashed to the man's hand, and this time he was caught.

"It's okay, don't feel bad about it. Shoulda worn gloves today anyway, with how cold it is."

He did not want to feel kinship with this man, who was sending off bad vibes, but nonetheless, he didn't always run across someone who had as much disability to complain about as he did. At least the leg wound he still carried had had a few years to seal up. This guy's lost fingers--plural, as he could now see an entire middle finger on the left hand also missing--looked fresh. Too fresh, in fact, to predate a journalism career on home turf.

Alex pursed his lips, hoping not to seem too unfriendly, but he was less afraid of being rude than he was of awkward conversation that neither of them would be into. He could see the waitress having stilled, obviously listening in to their conversation, hoping to hear some gossip-worthy information despite the two men's denial of any military stories between them.

"Getting your drinks must've been an adjustment. Getting your stories through the keyboard must've been hell."

"Oh, you bet." the reporter said, and he gave a small chuckle. The uncomfortable sensation was still in the air, but it had muted enough that, when Alex took in his expression, he felt more at ease. The look behind his eyes said that this was as much as he'd divulge, that he was more happy to be talking than to be talking about gruesome injuries. For his part, Alex hated small talk, had never been good at it and avoided it when he can, but perhaps he might take a stab at participating and nudge things in a different direction.

"Does it pay well, the whole journalism thing?"

"Used to." the man said over his coffee. "Even freelancers like me can make a good salary. Had me a nice Jeep and everything back in the day. Was probably better off on the board, but printing the truth comes with some consequences on occasion. Still managed to do pretty well for myself. What about you?"

"Amazing. Free dinner once a year at Golden Corral, doesn't get better than that."

The reporter laughed, and Alex cracked a smile despite himself, with how genuine he sounded.

"I'm sorry. I know being a veteran doesn't pay, in the grand scheme of things, not with how this country rolls. I got enough to pay for your blues tonight, if you want."

Alex hesitated, but being honest, being tight on money was a constant. Any reprieve on his wallet, even a small one, was probably worth it. And really, what was the harm? "That'd be generous of you."

The reporter got Frances' attention and let her know Alex's coffee was on his tab. The two of them continued their hesitant, but pleasant conversation with one another, and the topic eventually turned to how their careers had fallen. Alex simply left it at having been on a relatively downplayed sinking of income ever since leaving the military, while Miles admitted to having made himself a less-than-safe hire. Both of them missed things the way they used to be.

"Sorry it couldn't be a more glamorous space to share." Alex muttered when his refill came. "Recession hit us all pretty bad back then, I guess. If I had any stories worth sharing, I'd try to help you out."

"I dunno." The reporter said. "They say little cafes like these are liminal spaces of sorts. Little edges of the world, you know? I like 'em."

"You like that sort of thing?" Alex said, even though he could understand what the man was getting at.

"Hell yeah. The rest of the world is corporate and brick wall and let's be honest, full of assholes. Little diners like this, you get to get away from it all, but ain't gotta face how much your life sucks like you do when you're at home."

Alex laughed, actually laughed, and had to admit that the guy had sort of a point. Hell, maybe that was another reason that he kept coming to these places during the late parts of the evenings and nights. Well, actually, it was the same reason. Just another way of phrasing his standard excuse, as it happened. Yeah, he really understood that.

Times like this made him miss Elle. She had traveled with him, for a few years, before going her own way. The two of them had shared equal and opposite forms of...adaptation, to what had happened and what their lives had become. Their relationship had always been strained since escaping Silent Hill, but he could think of a fair few times there had been a smile cracked here, a laugh chortled there, and now that he thought about it, it did seem like he could remember times being easier in small places like this, terminals in the world.

Their conversation continued until, some time after midnight, the reporter had stood up and declared that, fun as this had been, it was late and he needed to leave, and Alex felt himself frowning. Was it really that late already? They'd been drinking coffee, you'd think that there would be no pressing need to get home and sleep. But he had reluctantly thanked the man for the coffee and the chat, and let him go on his way. The entire time, he had never exchanged names with him. That much, he thought for the best, but it did sour the goodbye just a bit. Alex didn't really have anyone he could talk with, whether friend or acquaintance. So he simply continued to sip in silence after the man left, head resting on a hand. Despite himself, before one o'clock, he could feel himself drifting, too, body fighting the caffeine.

He didn't want to go home. But eventually, he realized he was losing the fight, and needed to get into his car before he became too tired to drive it. Reluctantly, wondering if he might not feel better just laying his head on his arms and sleeping on the counter, he headed out to his car, got in, and drove back to his drab, run-down apartment.

And he thought of nothing in particular as he climbed the stairs to his home, the latest in a string of apartments left behind him that formed a chain stretching across the northeastern end of the United States all the way up to Maine, except that perhaps he might get the door hinges greased, when he got his next paycheck. The sheets of his bed were cold and disorganized, and he slid underneath them fully dressed, hoping he had held out long enough to sleep dreamlessly this time.

* * *

Alex's eyes snapped open. His body wasn't yet awake, and for a moment he was confused, until he heard something from downstairs again. A crash, and someone yelling...no, more than one voice was yelling. Then he heard it: a gunshot.

Alex scrambled out of bed, reaching into the drawer on his bedside table for his handgun, and then up onto the wall to grab the ceremonial dagger from the chain where it hung, stashing the latter into his coat pocket for lack of a holster. A glance at his clock told him it was 4:40 a.m. He'd been asleep three hours. The window was foggy and rain drops were starting to hit it.

His door was always locked, but he double-checked it as he heard the voices and violence downstairs escalate. A woman screamed, and he decided to open his window, just in case he needed to shimmy down the drainpipe on the wall outside. The sounds were getting nearer...

_"He's up here! This is the one!"_

_"Grab him and let's go!"_

There were footsteps coming up, getting closer. Alex was gripped by sudden fear even as he raised the gun defensively. How many were there? Were they coming for _him_? What was going on? Maybe he should leave, even if they weren't after him. If these guys had guns, and there was more than one of them...he didn't want to fight in a small space like this.

_BANG!_

Someone had barreled against his door, and Alex swallowed. It was time to go. He retreated for the window, and had his right leg out of it when the door to his apartment was knocked open with a mighty crash. Shadows preceded the men as they barreled around the corner and into the hall, and peered into his living room. There were at least two, dressed in all black and wearing masks.

"He's there! He's trying to get out through the window, get him!"

_Shit._

Alex tried to hasten his trip over to the gutter, but he wasn't out fast enough. A hand was grabbing him by the collar, scrabbling, fumbling at him, and then it was around his throat, and his head was banged against the brick wall as the aggressor tried to drag him back inside the bedroom. His wrist with the gun in hand was grabbed, too.

"Agh!"

"Get in here, you stupid--"

Alex resisted, hooking his good leg around the gutter pipe, struggling to get his gun pointed towards the masked man. Behind and below him, Alex heard a car horn honking, the sound of tires skidding on wet asphalt, and a monumental crash accompanied by the sound of screeching metal. All he could see, though, was a thug or some kidnapper struggling to get him away from the pipe he was latched onto, steadily prying him off...the man's eyes were narrowed with anger at the resistance, but suddenly, they widened.

Alex wasn't sure what happened, it happened so fast. He thought an arm covered in black clothing, had wound around the man's neck from behind, dragging him back--but it seemed to vanish as it did. Sure enough, though, his attacker was yanked away, hard enough to shake Alex loose from his hold on the gutter, and he was suddenly falling.

" _Argh! Fuck!_ "

Thank God, but he hadn't landed on his bad leg, but it had hurt hitting the pavement nonetheless. What was that, eighteen feet, twenty? He looked up at the window where he had fallen, and his own eyes widened as a hideous scream resounded from his very own bedroom.

" _Aaaaagh!_ "

His windowsill was painted red. Blood had spurted from somewhere within his bedroom and now rained down on him, peppering his face in it. His own eyes widened, as what looked like black mist followed the blood splatter out, but then was gone. Was it? More screaming was coming from within, and something was being smashed against a wall, hard...

"What the hell...?"

"Hey! Get in!"

Craning his neck around, Alex struggled onto one foot, turning until he could see what was happening on the road. A man was gesturing at him through the curtain of steadily-thickening rain from some dingy gray car in the parking lot. Alex squinted, and saw that the hand being waved at him had only four fingers.

_The reporter guy?_

"Quit waiting around, this way!"

Something seemed to pull him up until he was standing on both of his feet, and with only a slight limp, he broke into a run that ached awfully, until he was across the lot and face-to-face with, yes, Mr. Reporter.

"What's going on? Who are y--"

"Shut the fuck up, and get in the car! I'm getting you away from these guys!"

Alex elected to just do as he was told, as violent sounds were still coming from the apartment above. Going around to the passenger side door, he checked for both his gun and his ceremonial dagger before opening it, checking the back seat, and getting in. No sooner had he closed the door than they were already off, the missing-fingers man already behind the wheel and turning it sharply, pedal to the gas. Water sprayed up from the pavement as they whirled and made for the exit to the apartment complex.

"Who the hell are those guys? Who the hell are you? What the fuck is going on?" he demanded as soon as they were out on the road and going at a very fast pace.

"Those guys were Murkoff agents." the man at the wheel said with a huff. "Probably not Tactical, maybe rookies. They fumbled this, and damn good thing they did, too."

This did not make a lick of sense to Alex. They were now out on the road, water flying and headlights bright in the early morning pitch as they passed out of the small wooded area and onto the suburban streets, only having to dodge around an occasional car at this hour. In the rear view mirror, Alex thought he saw a car heading onto their tail.

"But who's Murkoff? Who are you?" he asked. "Listen, I--"

"Can you just shut the fuck up for a while?" the reporter cut him off. "This isn't some spy movie, I can't drive like this and answer your questions at the same time!"

'Like this' quickly made sense. Reporter Guy did not stay on the suburbs long, quickly making his way onto the greater Orchard Place roads while still turning and cutting across intersections as much as he could. Eventually, they were on the interstate, and Alex could not see them being followed. The rain was picking up, slicking the roads, and going 85 on the 88 didn't seem that safe. A sign passing told him they were leaving the town behind.

"Are...are we heading out of the state?" Alex asked.

"Might be." the man said, without taking his eyes off the road. "Can't chance the airport right now, I'm willing to bet they've got an ambush set up for me there."

Alex held his silence for a while, unbearable though it was. He was heading far away from his only home, with none of his possessions except a couple of weapons and the clothes on his back, with a total stranger he had met less than eight hours ago. Apparently, people were after him for some crime he could not fathom having committed, or the more likely scenario, the journalist driving the car had printed the wrong story and now Alex was sharing the target on his back. He put up with this for maybe twenty minutes before he finally chose to break his silence, seeing as they were passing out of the Chicago area and it didn't look like they were going to stop for a while.

"So why are we running like this? Who is it you've gotten on the wrong side of?"

To his relief, the man answered.

"Murkoff Corporation is one of those names that's big, but tends to be invisible. Too corporate for the public eye, but really fucking rich and really fucking evil. I got contacted on some shady shit they were doing, I peeked in, and I got away to tell about it. They don't like me very much, and they want me pretty damn badly."

"Badly enough to just grab people off the street they see you speaking to?" Alex demanded, boggled. Surely that was extreme! Didn't investigations and questionings come first?

"Yes, that badly." The man said grimly. "You weren't the only one they came after hoping to interrogate. But you can tell that you're the one I got to in time. I'm sorry." he answered, and the tension in his expression made Alex think he might just be being truthful.

"So what am _I_ doing here?" Alex asked. "I don't--I don't have my phone, or anything!" he said, and as he realized this, he felt the horrible realization of how bad a fuck-up _that_ was. These people knew who he was, and only by the luck that his wallet was still in his coat pocket where it had been all evening did they not also have his ID and credit card. He was totally screwed. Why the hell hadn't he grabbed that on the way out?! "You gotta drop me next to a gas station or something, so I can--"

"You have to stay with me." The driver said, a pained expression on his face. "The only safety you've got is with me. Eventually, they're gonna find you. Definitely better if you stick with me. I have some idea of what they do, and that's better than none, right? Let's not invite 'em to track you down in the woods and butcher you until you tell them which way my car went."

Alex sat there, open-mouthed at...at all of it! The suddenness, the bizarreness, the audacity of it all... He considered, for a moment, taking his gun and pointing it at the other man's temple, and demanding to be taken back to, if not his apartment, then at least Orchard Place, or at the very least to drop him off at a hotel. He wanted no part of whatever bullshit _this_ was. This guy had one thing right: this wasn't a spy movie. None of this was cool, none of this was welcome, and...

"It's unavoidable. I'm sorry, I really am. But I think you and I need to stay together. You've got a gun, right? Look, if it comes to that, you can shoot me, but I'm just trying to do my bit on your behalf. This was my fault for being so careless and getting caught, least I can do for you is try to keep you on the move and under the radar."

Alex didn't answer him. In fact, he retained his silence this time, now much more content to fume and mourn and just process everything. He was being carried steadily away from everything he knew...which admittedly wasn't much. He had to admit, this would've been a lot worse if it had happened to someone with kids, or a family, or any real attachment to their umpteenth living quarters. That didn't mean he _wanted_ it to happen. And he couldn't stop thinking about the details of what had gone down in the apartment. That blood splatter, and that slight shimmer, the shadowy mist he was still sure he had imagined. Whenever his thoughts turned to this, his eyes glanced over to the driving man's fingers, and lack thereof, bone-white around the steering wheel.

That sensation of something off persisted, and he didn't like it. He wasn't going to just blindly trust this guy. Every once in a while, he would check the backseat, even though it was definitely empty.

After hours in which he'd contemplated going back to sleep, the sun was coming up, and the journalist finally pulled off of the interstate, not into a hotel, but at a rest stop. As Alex listened, a phone vibrated from some pocket. The man reached into his pocket and took it out, staring at a text. Replacing it, he turned to Alex.

"We can't stop just yet. But I think we're far enough out that I can afford to give you some time to adjust, ask _maybe_ a question or two."

Alex inhaled sharply. "Alright. Let's start with names--real ones, please. I'm Alex Shepherd."

The guy looked him up and down. "Miles Upshur."


	2. It's Going Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans to lay low and stay in hiding are out. Miles has a mission, and that means the unfortunate veteran stuck with him has one, too.

_Deeper, deeper, deeper... Static was playing in his head._

_Miles was being throttled, held under. Images were shifting, unable to coalesce. The water was all around him, and it hid from him the aggressor who was holding him under the surface. If he could just grab at something, anything, the walls, a shirt, a face..._

_The scene faded as he was pushed under deeper and faced with the black wall of nothing, which in turn changed into a rapidly-shifting scenes, all fogged up with blood and rust and filth leaking through inch by inch. Thrown down in a tomb, knives being drawn across flesh, and hands around his throat yet again...the clock was frozen. The fog was thickening, darkening. White gave way to blurring gray and then total darkness. Metal hands with fingers like knives were hanging above him, reaching down on him, and he couldn't move, strapped down...  
_

_The white lights of a hospital theater were shining down on him. They were so bright, why couldn't they turn it off... The static was getting louder..._

Miles blinked himself awake. Light was hitting him right in the eye, and he raised his hand to cover his face, realizing as he did so that the glare was coming from the windshield. It was late in the evening, by the look of it, and the sun was setting. In the same moment, he realized he could still hear the static, too loud to simply be coming from inside his own head. He realized that the car's radio was on, and was evidently hitting dead air. Grimacing, he leaned over, his neck popping loudly as he did, and struggled to right himself. In the next seat over, his new companion was frowning and blearily opening his eyes, apparently having also been disturbed by the static. Reaching over, he hastily turned it off.

 _Did I do that?_ he wondered. _Wouldn't be the first time the nanites have affected technology near me._

"We heading out?" Alex asked.

Miles did not immediately answer. He always checked his phone before doing anything else after waking, and after fishing around in his coat pockets for a while, located it. Holding it up and turning it on, he checked his messages and calls, only for his mouth to drop open.

Waylon had contacted him again.

There was call after call, text after text begging that he answer. How the hell had he slept through these? Fiddling with the volume, he confirmed that it was all the way up, as it was every minute of every day. These should've woken him up. Holding up a hand to silence Alex's further questions, he took a look at his voice messages and held the phone to his ear.

_"Miles, for fuck's sake, pick up, pick up! Murkoff have made a deal with their mercenaries and they're meeting one of them a day from now at 38.4475° North, 87.9959° West! He's got the data that was stolen from us, and if it gets back into Murkoff's hands, it's going to be destroyed! God damn it, Miles, pick up the phone!"_

There were sixteen other voicemails, all saying variations of the same desperate information. Miles' blood was getting colder by the second--these messages had been left eight hours ago. What time was it now? He tried frantically to call the secure number back, but there was no service in this area. He tried three times before giving up, examining no internet connection and no bars. Perhaps the messages had taken hours to go through? But if this whole area had no service...this wasn't so backwoods that there ought to be radio silence here. His eyes flickered to the radio. Turning it on again and flicking through channels made it clear that it was static across the board. This was not lost on Alex, who looked highly concerned.

"I think we need to leave..."

"We _are_ leaving. Buckle up."

* * *

Alex was almost finished processing it all.

According to Miles, the people after him were the sorts who had fingers in government, the CIA and the FBI, and all sorts of corporations, and were interested in experiments that had to do with summoning ghosts and demons. All of this sounded a little far-fetched even to Alex, who had seen proof that hell was real and that things from 'beyond' were real. It just sounded like the sorts of things that would've come out of the mouth of that old Wheeler guy who used to police his hometown. On correctly identifying this skepticism on his face, Miles had responded that he didn't really care if Murkoff and friends were trying to summon unicorns and teddy bears, and that if they were going to abuse the patients at mental institutions to do it, he had a duty to expose them. That, at least, made sense enough to him.

But he hadn't thought that this reporter dude would try to throw him in the deep end so quickly.

"And who is this dude we're trying to intercept?"

They were headed to a place called, of all things, 'Bone Gap'. Miles had, with urgency and a slight bit of panic lacing his voice, let him know that things had changed, and that it was no longer in their best interests to run, as Miles was trying to retrieve something of apparently vital importance.

"Some mercenary, he said. After I escaped...erm, Murkoff's outpost, I had a camera full of evidence of all the shit they've done. Another guy, the one who sent me these, he got out of there with recorded evidence, too. Between the two of us, Murkoff should've already been sent underwater, I'm talking crashed all the way down to the Marianas Trench. I was all ready to upload it, but next thing I know, it's gone."

"What, it just disappeared?" Alex asked, incredulous.

"Well.......yes. Hey, stop looking at me like that." Miles answered, even though he hadn't glanced Alex's way--his eyes were on the highway they were speeding down at well over a hundred miles per hour. "I don't get how that happened any more than you do, it should've been impossible for anyone to take it out from under me."

"I'll say." Alex bristled. "And what, they stole the other guy's info, too? At the same time?"

"By all appearances." Miles said. "He hasn't said outright that that's what happened, but I'd bet on it, because he's definitely alive and near technology. He might be vulnerable, being watched by Murkoff. Dude's got a wife and two sons, he might be worried for their safety. I wouldn't begrudge it of him to hold off. I'm betting on stolen footage, though. Hopefully the guy who's carrying mine has kept it in good shape. We've gotta get it from him before he can sell it back to Murkoff. Once they get ahold of it, it'll get destroyed forever."

"And what are you going to do if you catch up with him?" Alex asked. "Kill him?"

"Ah..." Miles said, hesitating, and his hands were bone-white again, making Alex more nervous than ever about his driving. "I might have to, if it came to that. I hope it doesn't though, since, uhh...since I'm not too good with a gun, y'see."

"Lovely." Alex answered dryly. "No wonder, really. _I'm_ good with a gun, though, and I'm kind of wanting you to stop and let me out."

"I told you," Miles argued, "you're safer with me."

"I'm safer with the guy who can't work a gun? Versus the guys who are so serious about hunting him down that they nearly kidnapped and interrogated me? When you apparently wanna drive me straight into a _nest_ of these guys?"

"Yes!" Miles insisted. "And not a _nest_. Just...a little close to one. We're trying to intercept the guy at the deal coordinates. Murkoff's actual facilities will be a little ways off."

"I don't care. Let me out, now."

"We're in the middle of fucking _nowhere_." Miles snarled. "Is that how badly you wanna duck out of this? That you'll take strolling along a highway far removed from any civilization, in the middle of the night, with no phone or vehicle of your own? Even if Murkoff doesn't get you, the animals and the hillbilly hicks will."

Alex did not answer, fuming silently. In truth, he almost _did_ want to do that. He felt rather like he'd gotten hoodwinked. This wasn't an escape, this was taking him right to the doorstep of lunatics!

"Look," Miles said impatiently, "this is good luck. It's almost too good to be true. Once I get the footage back and expose them, it's all over. I can drop you off in some other state, or country if you like, and Murkoff will be way too damn busy trying put out the fires to focus on capturing me, or anyone I speak to, like you. You couldn't have gotten in my car at a better time. Yes, this is dangerous, but it's the only way out of this, unless you want to be moving from hotel to hotel across the entire country for the rest of your life, running credit scams and barely being able to go outside."

"Find a place to stop." Alex said bluntly. "I have to piss."

"Whatever."

The deflection worked, and after slowing to a stop (which took quite a while), he was allowed to get out and stride off. Miles did not stop him as he stomped much further than he needed to, right into the woods on the edge of the road, except to shout "Hurry up!" after him. Alex really did have to take a leak, but they both knew that this was him taking time to figure out his plan.

One thing that he had gained since starting his continuous patchwork journey across the country was control. Not a huge whole lot of it, granted, but even the shitty daily life he lived was mostly within his own power. What had happened since then was about as welcome as a meteor strike, and roughly as catastrophic on his stable, quiet life. He was still trying to wrap his head around being an underpaid retail worker one evening and a fugitive the next. With nothing left to pursue, he had not had any reason to stride into danger, and he wouldn't ever really have chosen to. Some strangers had swooped down on him, and now his choice was to die in one way or another. Anger, already his companion lately, was starting to surge up from within him, but the sharp edge to it was fear. Why him? Why not _anyone_ else? Was he supposed to gracefully handle a guillotine coming down on him like this?

A chill overtook him as he picked a spot and unzipped. It was a bitterly cold evening. His mind wandered as he emptied his bladder, trying to decide whether to just wander off and not go back to the car, or ride things out with Miles. Never seeing this guy again was an appealing idea, so in that respect he at least won no matter what he did. He could see no reason not to let Miles, who after all had not asked for any help whatsoever and appeared to have no way of forcing him to trek along with him, finish this little mission on his own. He could do it...he had that power...

A sharp breeze blew through the trees, and Alex shivered again. He was relieved, at least, but he couldn't focus on his thoughts now. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. Despite not yet being resolved on what he wanted to do, unbidden memories were resurfacing, as they had earlier when the radio had been overcome by static. He typically did his best to forget Silent Hill had ever happened. All of that was gone, long in the past, and useless to him now except as a burden. Paranoia that things were following him, despite plaguing him for years, was still baseless and stupid.

A crunch of leaves, another ice-cold breeze at his back. Too close, too short, almost like someone breathing...

"Miles?"

Alex turned around, still able to see the car's headlights glowing through the trees, though Miles did not answer. Turning around, Alex peered into the darkness. Someone was watching him.

His hand lifted jerkily towards his chest. The ceremonial dagger still laid against it, underneath his jacket, ready to be yanked off the chain around his neck and swung on aggressors. Was he imagining that? His mind had been his own worst enemy before. He did occasionally get...flashes. Was this an imagined fear, or was someone here, staring him down just out of sight? He took a step forward, leaves crunching under his foot. He had no flashlight or phone, and the moon was behind a sheet of clouds. A silhouette in the distance, maybe?

Crunch. Another step. Alex squinted hard. Eyes looked back at him, hands at a shadowy figure's side catching a bit of the car's headlights when he moved. Alex thought he saw bandages.

He staggered backwards several paces, eyes locked on the figure and unblinking, before turning on his heel and half-running back towards the road. A poor defense against bullets it might be, but Miles' car had metal walls to place between himself and whatever was out here. Blood running cold and racing, he moved as fast as he could and shoved a hand in his jacket pocket for his gun. There were no sounds of pursuit, but if anything grabbed him...he seriously doubted the danger here was in hillbilly hicks, but there was definitely danger.

He reached the road and threw open the car door, finding Miles staring at him as though he were crazy.

"Took you long enough, damn."

"I'm here, just _drive_." he said, out of breath. If Miles had any idea what Alex was thinking or found his behavior at all bizarre, he did not give any indication of it.

"Glad you saw it my way."

And Miles did not say anything else as he hit the gas hard, tires squealing as they accelerated down the road. Alex kept his eyes glued to the window, one hand under his shirt feeling the handle of the blade as the world outside sped by.


	3. Bone Gap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving in a ghost town, Alex and Miles find hostile locals and a mysterious mercenary.

The car finally slowed to a stop on hard gravel.

"...Where the hell are we?"

"Bone Gap, Illinois." Miles answered. "Or just outside of 'Old Bone Gap', anyway. Local population is less than three hundred. Built on old Piankeshaw territory, just a little northeast of Albion. Murkoff love ghost towns and remote places, gives 'em a nice little petri dish of subjects away from prying eyes. I wonder what they're building out here."

"Lovely," Alex responded, "but I meant where, in town, are we? I don't see any buildings."

"I'm not getting too close. Not in my car, anyway." Miles answered. "Don't feel like getting my tires slashed, or any of my sensitive data stolen...again. We'll go it on foot from here, and if we need to, we'll steal a car to book it back here with."

Alex raised his eyebrow, but could not exactly argue against it. It was still dark, and he did not feel as though getting out of the safety of the vehicle was the best option. Not to mention it was damn near pitch black out. But he opened the car door and stepped out into the night again, closing it quietly. A quick check, his fifth in recent hours, confirmed his weapons were still there and his gun was still loaded, safety on. Miles, on the other side, was going through his own pockets, and checking around the seats for any materials, though Alex couldn't see what exactly he was after. Eventually he got back up and closed the door without seeming to grab anything.

"What exactly are we looking for again?" he asked.

"We're looking to intercept the mercenary, so we're going to be looking for the site where the deal is going down, wherever that may be. We're going to avoid the streets and stick to the outskirts until we have some idea of where it is. Hopefully we're not too late. Now, listen to me--this is important, got it?"

Alex nodded.

"Murkoff Tactical will be obvious. Military wear, assault rifles, helmets, the works, but they're gonna be efficient and ruthless, not like those chumps they hired on short notice to try and grab you out of your bed. We do not need to get seen by these guys, because if they see someone where they shouldn't be, they'll put a bullet in your head quick. But the other thing you have to worry about is Murkoff's actual personnel. Sites like this, they're usually hands-off, but I can't guarantee that. And if they're here, they're not gonna advertise themselves with suits and ties or lab coats, they'll look like normal people. I, uh. Well, fuck, I didn't wanna have to ask this of you. But if something bad happens--if we get spotted by some loon who's ready to radio backup--are you ready to shoot?"

It had been a long time since he'd killed a man. He didn't like to think about it. He lacked a killer instinct, yes, but he could end lives if they were immediate threats. He hadn't relied entirely on muscle memory all these years, but it also wasn't like he'd kept up extensive training. He nodded again without voicing these concerns.

"Good. I'm not gonna lie to you, we're fucked if this falls through, so I need you to stick with me and be quick and quiet. I don't know if they know what the mercenary looks like, but they'll know me by face. We might be able to sneak you in, if we don't just ice the guy, grab the camera, and go. Any questions?"

"Ah..."

"Yeah?"

Alex swallowed. "I mean, I think this is important for you to know...I'm not a fast runner. I mean, I can, but my left leg's not in great shape, and I can't sprint for my life. S'why I keep my gun loaded."

Miles bit his lip, looked away towards the woods, then looked back.

"Fuck. That really puts a dent in things, but we'll work around it. Don't worry about keeping up so long as you're going as fast as you possibly can, if we have to go. Now, you ready?"

"Let's go die, I guess."

Miles snorted, but motioned for him to follow. Alex kept his gun out and pointed at the ground, trailing a few feet behind him as Miles entered underbrush and then woods.

_Crunch, crunch, crunch..._

The leaves under their feet felt like they were making way too much noise in the darkness, and the wind was still chilly. Alex refused to let it get to him. Two sets of feet, four crunches every second...God, he really didn't like this.

They walked seemingly aimlessly. Miles did not seem to have a direction in mind. Twenty minutes passed before anything of note happened, then thirty, when Alex thought he saw a faint hint of light up ahead. They did not approach, turning to wind around, and it turned out to be a zapper placed above an outpost. Despite how long they walked without seeing anything, Alex still noted that this place seemed extremely flat and dry, and what forest they had seen on the way over seemed to have dwindled quite a bit. They wouldn't be able to skirt the actual town for too long. But still they walked. While they stole away from light a few more times as they walked, it was never long before he almost tripped on an exposed rock or a root, and he swallowed the curses that he wanted to say when he did. Seriously, how the hell was Miles able to see where he was going? _Years of practice sneaking around for stories, I suppose._

Perhaps another thirty minutes into their walk, Miles seemed to have finally decided to approach the light without faltering. Alex was not very sure about this decision; it felt like he could hear voices in the distance. But nonetheless, they kept moving through the trees until they thinned out, leaving them walking through only underbrush once again. Alex could see buildings and lawns now, a sparse suburbia, and there was definitely light ahead, though no porch lights were on nearby at least.

Hesitantly, the two men moved out of their small cover, crouching as they did, and Miles looked back at Alex, as if to ask if they were hearing that too.

"Just a little closer..." Miles mouthed, and Alex swallowed harshly again. He followed as they edged around the first house, finding themselves evidently on a residential street, paved with dirt and some gravel. The houses were small and unpainted; this was definitely 'Old' Bone Gap, resembling some of the older and less-refurbished outskirts of Shepherd's Glen that Alex could faintly remember. They slid around the houses, keeping behind them and ducking away from the ones that had lights on in the windows. The street sloped gently but consistently downward, making it somewhat difficult to keep upright and still hide. The voices were growing louder, too.

The source of the light was becoming clearer as they moved, and just as they were stalking under a porch, Miles held out an arm to stop him. There were creaking noises from above, and then a door burst open directly above them, flooding the back yard with light while Alex froze. A man's voice sounded.

"You all stay inside! I'm gonna go help out the others!"

With a straining groan of wood, the owner of the voice leapt off the railing and landed on the grass ahead of them. Alex saw the glint of metal in the house's light before it closed, leaving them to see only a silhouette against a flashlight's beam, which quickly took off running downhill. Alex didn't breathe, amazed he hadn't seen them.

Miles turned back towards him. "I think town square is that way..." he said, brow furrowed. "Come on, something's up. Let's get closer."

They crept downward, and Alex noted that there was definitely a commotion up ahead. As the street leveled out, they heard yelling, and the light seemed to be coming from a large amount of flashlights and a few torches. Miles pulled him into a bush just as someone ran past them, and Alex realized that people were still moving up and down the street and inbetween houses just as they were. They seemed agitated and panicked; some were running away, but others were running towards the commotion. The two men looked at each other.

"Be ready to shoot."

Alex nodded, and the two of them hesitantly got up and began to jog, moving down street after street parallel to the bigger road running through the edge of town. Nobody took notice of them, and they bore left, heading forward into what looked like a crowd. This had to contain a fairly large chunk of the town's population, Alex thought as he drew closer. There was yelling; men and women alike sounded both panicked and angry.

" _This way._ "

Alex skidded to a halt, and turned to follow Miles up the ladder he'd found attached to the back of a restaurant building. They climbed up, and Alex struggled to keep his balance on the slanted roof. But from here, they could look down onto the crowd.

"Look--down there!" he said, pointing towards the far end of the horde of people just as a gunshot rang out.

" _I said stay back!_ "

"Shit, what the hell?" Alex asked. The source of the flash of gunfire was a single man, frantically pointing a handgun into the retreating swarm of people bearing weapons, though no one had yet dropped. He looked towards Miles, and quite unfortunately, understanding seemed to be lacing his features. Alex looked back, peering closer at the guy with the gun: big, with thick black clothing on, and laced-up boots. He was wearing a back pack.

"Is that our guy?" he asked. "Just what's happening here?"

"He has to be." Miles said. "But the townspeople shouldn't be...unless..."

"Unless what? C'mon, tell me what's happening."

"Murkoff has experimented with mind control before. At least one incident resulted in the creation of a violent cult town. If that's really our guy, we need to go down there before they kill him, and damage my evidence."

"Will they attack us? Most of those people have weapons, and there's at least a hundred of them. That's a lot of machetes, and torches, and...hell, I can definitely see guns down there."

"I don't know. But it's all we can do. Let me just...fuck, they've really got him backed into a corner, there's nowhere for him to escape to."

Alex could see that Miles was...sort of right. The street was turning into paved road, and the buildings were thinning out. With the woods behind them, there was nowhere to lose the crowd. But there were still plenty of plenty of places to hide, weren't there? Places to go? Alex's eyes flickered up. He saw that the horizon was extremely flat, but towers could be seen in the distance. Civilization wasn't that far.

"He's not going to go that way if he's smart. I doubt Murkoff told him the route he'd be taking was full of hostile crazies."

Another gunshot. The people ducked and ran backward, but did not falter as long this time, quickly regaining themselves and drawing in closer, trying to encircle the man.

"Nevermind, what do we do? Just go down there, guns blazing? We can't just kill them..."

"I've got an idea. You need to get down there on your own first, though, okay? See that side street over on the right? You're gonna approach from the right, and when you're close to the crowd, fire into the sky. Get the guy's attention and start running with him. I'll create a distraction from behind them to cover for you while you run."

"Wait, we're splitting up? What the hell was all of that shit about how we're safer together?"

"No, we're not splitting up, I'll catch up to you quickly, but quit talking--we're wasting time, get going!"

Alex moved back and descended back down the ladder, circling around the remaining buildings until he was moving up the side street Miles had indicated. Fear was starting to gurgle in his gut as he saw the crowd of people, seemingly unaware of his approach as he broke into a jog. Miles was right, they were trying to encircle the guy, overwhelm him. He moved towards them, feeling very much as though this was a terrible idea, and as he started to run, his feet hitting the ground hard, eyes began to turn towards him. He skidded to a halt a mere five feet from the nearest citizens. They seemed to form almost a wall, men wielding bats and blades, some with ropes. The closest people were a man with bandaged hands and a knife-wielding blonde woman who looked afraid, turned toward him. Swinging his gun upward, he grit his teeth and fired.

There was an immediate effect. Alex's shot, so up close, sent the woman hurtling to the ground screaming in terror, holding her ears, and she wasn't the only one. The crowd was stumbling and throwing themselves back again, but this time moving away from him now. They rippled outward, fleeing and trying to make distance, and there was a gunshot, this time from something stronger, like a shotgun, from within them, and Alex heard splintering wood. Someone had fired back.

But now he could see the mercenary, struggling to reload his hand gun. Alex raised his voice and beckoned.

"Hey! Over here, this way!"

Other voices were ringing out, too.

_"It's another one!"_

_"Get away, leave me alone!"_

_"Move, move, I can't see to shoot!"_

_"Oh god, why are there more?"_

But his call had grabbed the man's attention, who looked at him for only a moment before sprinting towards him. At the same time, something odd happened. There was an odd, sharp wind blowing over the street, and every flashlight's beam went out, plunging most of the crowd into darkness. Alex turned on his heel and tore in the opposite direction down the street, curving around a bend as he went. If they could just find a manhole cover or something...

"Hey!"

Miles had not been lying, and came skidding out onto the street from behind a convenience store. Alex turned to follow him, and heard feet hitting the ground behind him. Chancing a look, he glanced over his shoulder and found the mercenary following behind him and catching up. He couldn't see any people following, but he could hear shouts in the distance, and knew they wouldn't be long.

The three of them collected as they ran, though Alex did not want to think about how much he was holding them up. He ran as fast as he could, and though the hole in his thigh and the underlying bone had been long since healed, he couldn't help but feel like something in there was going to tear or break if he kept up this pace. The shouts in the distance were getting louder.

_"Where are they?!"_

_"We can't lose them!"_

"This way! Follow me!"

The mercenary pulled ahead while Miles pulled back, and they turned off the road. They began ducking and weaving around buildings, searching for smaller streets, there not being enough buildings to create alleyways. He did not know how long they ran for, only that he could see wavering light behind them in the darkness; the crowd must have lit more torches.

"Over here, hurry!"

Alex skidded to a halt as he saw what he was being beckoned towards. It was a manhole cover, and the man with the backpack was now trying to lift it. Miles quickly got down to help him, and Alex took a moment to catch his breath before assisting as well. Together they pried up the large metal plate and, Alex going first at Miles' behest, they slipped in. The cover was quickly replaced as soon as they were all on the ladder down, sealing them in darkness once again.

"Ow--fuck!"

He had landed okay, only for the mercenary's bookbag to clip him on the head on the way down. Felt like there was something heavy in there.

"Shhh."

Miles had been the one to say it, and the three men huddled quietly in the darkness, straining their ears. Voices were audible above, and they did not dare speak further. Footsteps were sounding, coming closer. Alex could not make out individual tones or words anymore, but there were definitely people coming closer, and soon there were creaks of weight atop the manhole cover. Torch light bled through the pick holes, wavering. He held his breath.

They waited. Eventually, it seemed that they had escaped the crowd for now, but there was never any indication that the area was clear to resurface. Just when Alex would think about finally opening his mouth to say something, someone up on the street would speak, or light would pass over them again. The swarm of people, he imagined, must have scattered and spread out to look for them. Realizing this, he tapped the other two men on the shoulder, beckoning them to start moving down the tunnel quietly.

The three of them moved as one, walking until they could no longer hear anything from behind them. When they began to hear moving water, Miles let out a huff.

"Great. Sewer-crawling again. Anyone got a flashlight?"

"Hold on." Came the voice of the mercenary, and Alex's brow wrinkled. His voice was oddly familiar in a way that he couldn't place. They stopped while he took off his backpack and unzipped it, rummaging around inside until he retrieved a large weighted flashlight. Though he couldn't see inside the bag, or see much of anything at all, Alex could hear clinking that made it clear that other objects were inside it. Was the camera footage Miles was after in there?

The light came on, and the three men all covered their eyes in pain while they adjusted. Once they were all able to see without squinting, they resumed moving, coming to a turn and following it toward the right, hearing the sound of water get louder.

"What the hell's going on here?" Alex asked of him. "Are we on the same side? Why were those people trying to kill us?"

"Those are good questions." Miles said, and he slowed down so as to end up behind the man with the back pack. "You wanna answer 'em for us, guy?"

Alex hung back, suddenly aware that he was still gripping his handgun, and quickly acted to try and swallow his nerves and present as more of a threat.

"Uhh..." The mercenary said, slowing to a halt. "Who wants to know?"

Getting a closer look at the guy, he saw straight dark hair hanging over his head, and a narrow frame. His face seemed relatively normal, although there was dried blood covering part of it that had dripped down from a now-scabbed cut above his brow.

"I take it you're the mercenary Murkoff hired to steal back some footage for them?" he said cautiously, looking to Miles for any hint of warning in case he was asking the wrong questions.

"I might be. I was hired to get it, and I figured I'd sell it back to them and split. I never got that far, though. They gave me these coordinates and I found a bunch of lunatics here trying to kill me."

"And you didn't see that coming?" Miles said brusquely. "You had to have realized Murkoff weren't going to let you live once you handed them back the contraband. You'd be a witness to silence. Setting the townsfolk on you like this was just an easy way to ice you and destroy what they wanted gone in one fell swoop."

"Fuckin' sue me, I do what the money tells me." The mercenary said. "Now, what's your business in all of this? Don't tell me you're after the same thing."

"As it happens, we are." Miles said, stopping, and Alex with him. "You ought to recognize me, you ass. That's my footage you've got stuffed in your bag, isn't it?"

There was silence for a moment.

"Miles Upshur, I take it? Since you aren't dragging a woman and kids with you."

Miles snorted. "I might be, now why don't you hand that over? Now that you know better than to try and make deals with the devil, I could use my camera back."

The man remained silent for a while.

"What're you gonna do with it? Just...toss it onto the internet? Expose 'em?"

"That's the plan."

"Well then...why don't I do you one better?"

"The hell does that mean?" Alex demanded, hand twitching around his gun. He was not enthused at the idea of any changes to the plan. So far, things had worked, albeit they still needed to get out of town. He liked the idea of doing that and nothing but that.

"Well, you guys don't like Murkoff, right? Well, I don't either, after all this shit. But I don't feel like handing this crap over and then getting a bullet in the skull, right? So, you help me, I help you, we build a little trust, and we work together."

"Get to the point, asshole." Miles said.

"There's a radio tower over in Bone Gap proper, did you see them? There's no signal out here because of their jammers, but if we go in that direction, we'll be able to get under them and upload anything we like, unless you're telling me a whole city just lives without cell signal or internet and doesn't think that's weird."

"Hold on." Miles said. "I have information stating that radio towers are Murkoff's main method of projecting their experiments. That tower's probably a nest of the lunatics."

"Okay, then what if we go further? Even ghost towns tend to have cell towers. There should be one in Browns, and if not there, then at least West Salem."

"West Salem...that's good, I think, at least it's got enough people there that they probably shy away from it. But then again...we could just kill you _now_ and take the footage."

Alex swallowed, but held his gun in both hands, trying to emphasize Miles' point. Though Miles was not the picture of normal and nonthreatening, it was still odd to see him deliver threats as if he was the one holding a gun. But nonetheless, the mercenary looked wary.

"I think...that'd be a very bad idea. Come on, man, I'm just trying to make a living here. Why don't we at least try and get out of Bone Gap together, and then we can all part ways if we really feel like it?"

Silence. The mercenary swallowed.

"Miles, come on, I know why you're doing this. You're a big justice guy, it's been your whole career. Anybody willing to go after Murkoff has to be righteous on some level, right? You can't seriously just--just off me for my goods, yeah? I'll give the stuff back, for free even, if you get me to a vehicle and a road out of here, whaddya say?"

Miles sucked in a sharp breath, and Alex hoped he was considering the man's offer. Shady as this guy obviously was, he didn't think he wanted to resort to murder so quickly. After what seemed like an eternity, Miles exhaled and spoke.

"Alright. We'll get outside the city limits together. You give us the goods, you leave on your own two feet. Got it?"

"Deal."

"Hey," Alex said, keeping his distance as he observed the mercenary, who pointed his flashlight forward again as they began moving down the tunnel, "who are you, anyway? Exactly?"

"I'm a gun for hire. Not all that fond of actually killing though, so I usually take theft or kidnapping jobs. The PMC I'm with ain't on the web, but that don't mean I'm gonna tell you the name of it, either."

"And your name?"

"You can call me Joshua."


End file.
